


Anywhere but Here

by Drag0nst0rm



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Bookworm Celegorm, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 16:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17389979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Celegorm discovers pretty quickly that there's more than one way to run away from his problems.





	Anywhere but Here

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Tolkien.

There wasn’t a lot of shouting when he was very young - or, well, there was, but he was mainly the one doing it, and mostly during games, so that was alright. The other kind of shouting came later.

But there was tension already. Tension between Ada and Uncle Nolo, tension whenever someone mentioned grandmother, tension between their family and - and the queen. He wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to call her; Ada’s mouth went tight when he called her grandmother and grandfather’s eyes went tight when he called her anything else, so mostly he just followed Maitimo’s example and tried to avoid calling her anything at all.

There were days when his father would stalk into his forge and not come out for hours, his mother would do the same in her studio, Makalaure would play something loud and angry, and Maitimo would go stalk off to find Findekano. 

He wanted to walk out too, but the one time he tried, everyone came after him, and there was a lot of shouting because he was smaller than Maitimo, so it wasn’t allowed.

He took to hiding in the library instead. He could get even further away than Maitimo that way. When he had to sit still for lessons, he would fidget and twist in his seat until at least he was given permission to run, run, run, but when he was hiding in a corner with just the right book, sounding out the words until he got them right, he could run forever without moving an inch.

Everyone came back eventually, and then he could crawl out from his corner too and climb up in Ada’s lap while his mother laughed at Maitimo’s adventures from the day, and Makalaure teased him about getting too big to sit there anymore.

“Never too big,” Ada protested, holding him tightly. “In fact - “ He snatched Makalaure from his seat, and then everything devolved into a tickling match, which meant everything was alright again.

There were long stretches of good days like that, but the books were always waiting for when the bad days came.

 

When he was ten years old, he got to go on his first hunting trip. He loved every moment of it, but he was still too young to go on one on his own according to everyone else.

So when the next stretch of bad days came, he shot one longing look at the forest and then tracked down some books about hunts.

 

On the first bad day after Carnistir was born, he picked up his little brother and took him to the library. “You have to be quiet in here,” he told him solemnly. “That’s the rule, and that’s why this is the best place to come on the bad days.”

Maitimo broke that rule when he came running in to demand to know if Tyelkormo knew where the baby was.

Tyelkormo lifted the scroll he was reading to reveal Carnistir in his lap behind it, bright eyes following the path of the beautiful pictures.

After that, though, he always made sure to tell someone where he was taking the baby.

 

Carnistir grew to love the books of logic and mathematics, laws and records.

Tyelkormo thought he was welcome to them. He loved adventure stories, full of great deeds and action. He loved poetry too, with its swift, flowing phrases and short lines, like the words themselves were sprinting across the page. He even liked the books on linguistics, tracing the history of the language and then discussing it with his father.

But the first book he threw across the room was a book on linguistics. 

It was also the first book he’d found that talked about his grandmother.

He’d found it crammed into the back of a bottom shelf like a secret, but the contents had betrayed that promise. He stared at where the book had fallen and at the dent it had left in the wall. 

He was older now. No one protested when he left the house at a run.

 

He turned his attention to the languages of animals and turned to the outdoors more and more when he needed an escape.

Sometimes, though, no amount of running or riding or even hunting with Huan could make the thoughts stop buzzing in his hand. The tension was building in Tirion, and he just wanted it all to stop.

He returned to his books cautiously. He picked one at random, and this one kept its promise better. It was a Teleri book, full of poems about ships racing across the sea, even through storms still swift and free.

It was a better escape than most he’d found.

 

He brought books to Formenos. Lots of books. Carnistir helped him build up a small library there, but he spent more time running the accounts and logistics of things than using it.

Still, when someone walked in, he expected it to be Carnistir. Instead, it was Curufinwe.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in some surprise. He’d done the same thing with Curufinwe that he’d done with Carnistir, but Curufinwe, like their father, preferred to work out his problems in the forge.

Curufinwe opened his mouth to give some clever answer and then closed it again. “It’s quiet here,” he admitted. 

“It is,” Tyelkormo agreed. He lifted his hand from where he’d been stroking Huan’s back and grabbed the top book off the stack beside him. “Want a book?”

His brother relaxed a bit more as if he was afraid that he’d be shouted out. “Please,” he said.

It was a nice afternoon.

 

There wasn’t much room for books when they sailed, but he’d managed to grab a handful. 

He read them over and over again, until the spines cracked and he knew every last word.

On the ship, there was no room to run.

 

It was easier to find a hunt in Beleriand than it was to find a book, but as long as he had one or the other, he’d be alright. It didn’t matter how he escaped, as long as he had a way to. 

Curufin came back from a visit to Caranthir with three books heavy in his pack.

Celegorm devoured every one.

 

He still hunted after Huan left. He had to; hunting was a necessity here, not a hobby like back in Aman.

It wasn’t an escape anymore, though. It was a reminder.

The escape was Nargothrond’s library, the best in Beleriand, rows and rows of gateways to anywhere but here.

 

The only thing worse about leaving that library behind when they had to leave Nargothrond was leaving Celebrimbor. That first night, Curufin stared blindly into the fire. For a moment, it looked like there was nothing left behind his eyes at all.

Celegorm pulled out an old, battered book that he’d managed to keep safe all this time. It was the last one he had left from their library in Aman.

It hadn’t been their father’s craft, but that had never mattered to their father; he’d learn anything he was challenged to, and so Ada had bound it together for him as a birthday present long ago.

He knew every word by heart, but Curufin didn’t, so he started reading it, and he kept at it until the fire had burned low, and Curufin’s gaze was locked on him.

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t go away in his head again, so Celegorm figured it had worked well enough. He read from it every night until they got to the end.

Then he started over again.

 

There was a library in Doriath. He saw it, just a glimpse, before -


End file.
